Meg Pevensie: 1952
by HarmonyLover
Summary: An alternative of sorts to Almyra's "So Let Us Surrender" - which is to say, a different way that Meg Pevensie might have found out about Peter's breathing problems and his unfortunate encounter with Lady Rua.


**Disclaimer:** I do not own any part of _The Chronicles of Narnia_; it all belongs to the C.S. Lewis estate, Walt Disney Pictures, Walden Media, 20th Century Fox, et al. I write these stories purely for enjoyment; no copyright infringement is intended.

**Author's Note: **I wrote this as a thank-you gift for Almyra over fourteen months ago. It takes place in her "Song of the Phoenix" universe. I had never intended to publish it on the site, but I haven't heard from her for a long time, and she hasn't updated her stories for a long time, either. I am worried about her, and I am hoping that my posting of this story will let her know she is being thought about and very much missed. Aslan's blessings to her.

* * *

**Meg Pevensie, circa 1952**

Being married to one of the Pevensie brothers was, I reflected as I looked down into my swirling mug of hot tea, essentially being married to one half of a whole consciousness.

I could still be surprised by it. I had been Peter's wife for a little over a year, and I had seen from the first how close he was to Edmund. After experiencing just a fraction of why that closeness existed, that terrifying day at Dragon Hill, I had been left shaken, frightened, and awed by the dangers the two of them must have confronted during their lives. Having seen Peter face down a dragon on his own, I could only imagine what the pair of them could accomplish.

Not that I would ever admit to being awed in the least by my brother-in-law, I thought wryly, sipping my tea again. Edmund was kindness and politeness itself, but he was also forever watchful, protective, and cunning when it came to his family. My firm determination to be included in that family was one of the things that had brought us together, and I knew Edmund respected my own strength of will. Shortly after the incident at Dragon Hill, Edmund had come to see me at the hospital to talk about my engagement to Peter, and he shocked and angered me by implying that I might want to marry Peter for _what_ he was (a knight and High King of Narnia, a handsome and attractive man) rather than _who_ he was. I had been irked into sharp verbal repudiation, only to realize that I had given Edmund precisely what he had been seeking from the beginning: confirmation that I loved his brother, with all of that brother's flaws.

I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose between my fingers. There had been one look on Edmund's face that day that still haunted me, a look of such fragility that it revealed to me exactly how much it cost him to have to share the older brother who had been his world for most of his existence – and his existence, and Peter's, was much longer than his physical age of twenty-two. Strangely, that single facial expression had warmed me to Edmund as nothing else had done, for I realized then and there that if there was anyone in the world who loved Peter as much as I did, it was Edmund. There was a depth and a history to that love that I might never fully comprehend, but that made us allies when it came to loving and protecting Peter.

This morning, I had received a forceful reminder of their shared past which had left me more perturbed than I wanted to acknowledge.

I had woken up abruptly before dawn, startled and disoriented, only to realize that Peter was moving next to me. He was occasionally subject to vivid nightmares, and it had been in the aftermath of those nightmares that I had learned about some of the darker events that happened to him and his siblings in their time as monarchs of Narnia, but I had never seen him like this. His face was paper white, he was sweating profusely, and he was gasping for air as though his lungs had collapsed.

"No," he moaned. "No – Aslan, help me, please, don't let me do this –"

My breath caught. Only rarely had I heard Peter or Edmund speak of the Great Lion, but I knew how sacredly they held his name, and for Peter to utter it in such a way told me that he was praying. I leaned over him and began to shake his shoulder, trying not to be rough.

"Peter," I said gently. "Peter, wake up."

I didn't know whether it was my attempt to wake him or a change in the dream that held his subconscious so tightly, but his agitation only increased as he struggled to free himself from whatever awful vision he was reliving. He next cry, when it came, froze my blood cold, so anguished and grief-stricken was it.

"Edmund!"

And that last, terrible utterance broke his sleep, as he flew upward and stared at me with eyes full of grief and guilt, pressing his hand to his chest and panting. It took him a moment to recognize where he was and at whom he was staring, but the moment he knew me he reached out for me, and I held him tightly. His whole body was shaking, and he still couldn't breathe.

"Meg," he wheezed, clinging to me. "Meg – Sweet Aslan, he was there, he's never been more than part of the vision before, but he was there – I never wanted him to know –"

"Sshh, Peter, sshh," I soothed. "You have to breathe. Slow, deep breaths." I took several myself, trying to help him, although my own heart was pounding and my blood was racing with adrenaline. My nightgown was wet, and I realized that Peter was crying helplessly, despite the additional pain it must be causing his lungs.

He attempted to breathe with me, but I felt his abdominal muscles clench as he tried, and released him long enough to lean over and grasp the waste can that sat next to my nightstand. Peter retched almost as soon as I handed it to him, but the physical upheaval seemed to help him a little, for the shaking slowed, although the terrible rasping did not.

I took the waste can from him and set it on the ground, then picked up the glass of water that was always next to me at night and handed it to him. He took several small sips, pausing to try and draw air into his lungs between each one. When I was sure he had gotten the taste of bile out of his mouth, I brought him back against me and combed my hands through his hair.

"It's all right," I murmured. "It's all right."

Peter shook his head against my shoulder, his voice thick with tears. "No, it isn't. It isn't. I never, ever wanted him to _live_ that – Aslan forgive me."

"Peter, whatever happened in your nightmare, it _was_ a nightmare, and not at all your fault," I said firmly. I pulled away from him to try and meet his eyes, but he would not look at me, and finally I put my fingers under his chin and lifted his head up.

"Peter, dearest, listen to me," I said softly. I was not normally one for verbal endearments, but he was frightening me badly, and I had only a faint idea of what might be torturing him. "You are home, I am here, and Edmund is alive and well. I will get him for you this moment if he is who you need, but I have to know that I can leave you long enough to do so. Can I do that?"

Peter's eyes had, thankfully, fastened on mine again, and at my words he swallowed visibly and made his first concentrated effort to control his breathing. His chest still heaved, but the gasping slowed to a quieter wheeze. Still holding his gaze to mine, he nodded. It was all he could manage; the next moment his eyes closed in pain and exhaustion. I leaned over and kissed him reassuringly on the forehead.

"Three minutes, Peter, give me three minutes," I promised him.

I threw on my robe and flew down the stairs, but before I reached the telephone there was a firm knock on the door – not loud enough to frighten, but determined to be heard. I hurried toward the front door, my common sense fighting what my instincts were telling me. Grasping the doorknob, I wrenched the door open.

Edmund stood before me.

My instincts, against all odds, had been right. Edmund did not live all that far away, but how he had known what was happening and how on earth he had gotten here so quickly were questions I could not answer. I noticed a cab pulling away as I took in his appearance. Like his brother, he was white and shaking, and he was more disheveled than I had ever seen him, wearing a crumpled shirt and trousers that were surely from his performance with the Frontmen last night, a trilby that was askew on his head, and a great coat that he had hastily thrown on to keep off the drizzling rain. His eyes were red; he had been weeping.

"I came as soon as I woke. Meg?" he asked hoarsely, pouring several questions into that one word.

"Upstairs," I answered, my voice suddenly sounding like that of a terrified little girl. "I was just going to call you." I moved aside for Edmund to enter, and he must have registered my tone of voice, for he looked at my face and reached out at once, pulling me to him.

"He'll be all right," he said quietly. "He isn't now, but he will be." He gave me a reassuring squeeze, then headed for the stairs without another word.

I stood stock-still for a split second, astonished. Edmund was ordinarily reserved when it came to physical touch; he was only continually affectionate with Peter and, presumably, his girlfriend Maureen. For him to offer such comfort to me spoke of a true crisis of some kind.

With that mental reminder I was in motion again, hastily going up the stairs and gathering hot water, washcloth, and peppermint oil on my way to the bedroom. Peter really needed something stronger, but I didn't have anything at home that compared to what was available at the hospital. This would have to do. I reached the doorway only a few moments after Edmund had entered – and stopped again, appalled at what I saw.

Peter had somehow managed to put the bed between himself and Edmund, although the surprise of his brother's appearance and the physical effort to move had clearly cost him, for the rattling in his chest was back with a vengeance. He was on his knees on the floor, one hand still on his chest and the other out toward Edmund, as if to keep him away.

"Don't!" he said, managing to sound fierce despite the terrible sound of his breathing. "Don't, Ed, please. I can't – I won't –"

Then Edmund drew himself up, and although I could hear the pain and sorrow in his voice, I suddenly knew why enemies of Narnia feared the anger of the Just King when any wrong was done to his brother. The sorrow was for Peter; the anger was not.

"Peter Pevensie," he said sternly, "you have never turned away from me in your life before, and I _forbid_ you to do so now. If you do, _she_ wins, though she has been destroyed these many years and hopefully has suffered for her wickedness every moment since her death."

Though I didn't know who _she _was, I shivered at the venom in Edmund's tone. I had not yet heard all the stories of their time in Narnia, and if Peter's pained and frantic state was the result, I wasn't sure I wanted to hear this one.

Peter and Edmund exchanged a long, wordless look, and as I watched the fear and shame in Peter's eyes were overwhelmed by sadness. His hand lowered, and Edmund was instantly at his side, cradling him as tenderly as if he had been a child. For a moment, watching from the doorway, I could see as clearly as day how the two young men in front of me had taken care of each other for a lifetime and more, as kings and warriors and brothers, and the picture brought tears to my eyes.

Moving carefully, Edmund helped Peter up onto the bed, settling himself beside his brother, since Peter adamantly refused to release him. I came forward then and sat on Peter's other side, pouring a few drops of peppermint oil into the basin of hot water I carried, then rinsing and wringing the washcloth before pressing it to Peter's chest. He had ceased speaking, wracked with pain and consumed anew by the struggle to breathe, but he pressed his hand to my own in thanks before closing his eyes and leaning back against the headboard, his other hand still gripping Edmund's forearm.

We spent a silent few minutes, the only noise being Peter's ragged inhalations and my quiet rinsing of the cloth when it grew cool. Praise be, Peter's breathing gradually grew easier, but when he finally opened his eyes, the bleakness in them chilled me once more. What was it that had brought my unfailingly warm and generous Peter to the edge of such darkness?

He turned to Edmund, his expression a strange mix of pleading and hopelessness. "Brother, forgive me," he whispered, and I realized with a sudden shock that whatever the pair of them had endured this night, Peter was afraid that Edmund could not forgive him – perhaps even felt that he did not deserve forgiveness.

Edmund saw it, too, for his dark eyes widened before he shifted position, so that he could look more fully into Peter's face. Carefully disengaging Peter's hand from his arm, he ended up kneeling next to his brother, one arm around Peter's shoulders and the other hand resting in his hair. Peter was thus gently forced to meet his brother's eyes. When Edmund spoke, his voice was so full of emotion that I scarcely recognized it.

"There is nothing to forgive," he said softly. "I know as much and more than you about the traces that Dark Magic leaves on the soul, Peter Wolfsbane. I thank Aslan every day that you have remained mostly untouched by it, save for these recurring dreams that linger with you. The man that fought and killed me in that burning wasteland tonight had so little in common with the brother that I have served and loved as to make the comparison worthless."

I forcibly checked the sound of distress that rose to my lips at Edmund's words, not wanting to disturb the conversation between them, for I knew that Edmund was the only one who could truly help Peter at the moment. I could not, however, slow my own flying thoughts as I absorbed what had been said. Peter had _killed_ him? Killed Edmund, his brother, the one person here in England besides myself (and perhaps, even still, Susan) whom he would give his life, his very soul, to protect? Even in a nightmare, the notion was unthinkable, impossible. It would have been laughable, had not the two of them been so completely in earnest. Was _this_ what had happened in the dream that the two of them had clearly shared? And who was this _she_ that invaded Peter's consciousness even after her death?

"It _was_ me, Ed," Peter whispered between his shallow breaths. "The torture of these dreams has always been that the man in them _is_ me, however twisted and warped I have become. It has been a long time since I've had an attack from either of her dreams," and here a look passed between them that I could not decipher, "but this one was made all the more hideous by its long absence." He shuddered, and Edmund's arm tightened on his shoulders as I lifted up my hand and rested it on Peter's back, adding my own point of physical contact and comfort.

"Whatever part your subconscious played in that vision when it was originally imposed on you, Peter, Aslan himself forgave and absolved you long ago," Edmund reminded him gently. "You repented, you asked forgiveness and received it, and Aslan told you that her power was great enough to distort your self-perception, at least within the dream world she fashioned. You loathed what you saw and felt from the first and were horrified by it; that is proof enough that you are not the heartless destroyer she tried to make you."

Peter shook his head, closing his eyes. "Only Aslan and his love makes this bearable," he said, his voice breaking. "Every time these dreams happen, the guilt stabs me through as though it were the first time. I cannot forgive myself, Edmund. Not for this. Why this dream should have been different, why we should have both been there and able to see and sense each other as well as the counterparts she created, I don't know. I would have done anything to prevent it."

"Yet it was not for myself that I wept when I woke this morning," Edmund whispered. "It was for you, Peter. To know – to feel – what you have endured every time these visions come to you was more distressing than any physical feeling I suffered, or could imagine."

Peter made a small, choked noise that somehow conveyed more pain than anything else would have done, and faster than thought the two brothers were holding one another so tightly that it seemed as though they were incapable of letting go. Tears flowed silently down both their faces as I sat – white-faced, I was sure – next to them, immobile.

With Edmund's last, scarcely audible remark, all the pieces I had been grappling with fell into place, and I had to fight the nausea that rose suddenly in my throat. Not only had Peter and Edmund both lived this recurring nightmare of Peter's, a nightmare in which my husband was apparently a cruel and evil version of himself and gladly fought and killed his brother, but Peter and Edmund as they existed here had somehow both been there and been aware of each other, as well as the doppelgangers created by the mysterious _she_. It was hard to comprehend, but it sounded as though they had been able to feel everything that had been done by their doubles – which meant both of them would have physically felt the moment when Peter had ended his brother's life. From the sound of it, Peter always felt it, but he would have run himself through before allowing his brother to experience such horror.

_Aslan have mercy._

I had never before called on the Lion myself, feeling that somehow it was not my place to do so, but the prayer rose unbidden in my heart as I bit down on the inside of my cheek, hard enough to draw blood. It took every ounce of my training as a nurse, years of practicing that impassiveness in the face of wounds and death and mangled bodies, to keep my calm demeanor. I no longer wondered why Peter had been so devastated upon waking; it was astonishing that he had not been any worse.

_Aslan, have mercy on your kings. Help them, please._

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Edmund stiffen in Peter's hold, and I turned my head as Peter pulled back to look at his brother's face. Edmund was staring at Peter, some kind of realization stealing across his features.

"Ed?" Peter questioned, wearing a concerned frown.

"It was different," Edmund said thoughtfully. "The dream was different." His voice was still soft, but I could see the wheels turning behind his eyes. He suddenly sucked his breath in sharply, and his visage changed completely as he fixed his brother with a glare that must have withered any ambassador who encountered it. "Peter, you idiot!"

Peter's mouth fell open in astonishment. "Ed, what has gotten into you?"

"You said it yourself. 'Only Aslan's love makes this bearable. I cannot forgive myself for this.' You didn't just mean this particular dream, did you? You meant all of them. You meant that whole incident with _her_. He forgave you, but you haven't been able to forgive yourself."

Peter's shoulders slumped, and he ran his hands tiredly over his face, which, I could see, was all the acknowledgement Edmund needed. "It wasn't exactly my finest moment, Ed."

"You and your bloody guilt complex," Edmund growled. He grabbed Peter's upper arms, and his eyes were blazing. If I had not known that the fire came from his love for Peter, it would have been a fearsome thing to behold. "Peter, you were fighting a bloodthirsty sorceress who wanted to take over our kingdom. She trapped you, not to mention a whole village of our subjects, onto an island, forced you to fight monsters, seduced you, mentally tortured you, and came damn close to killing you when you destroyed her. With Aslan's grace and forgiveness and strength, you were able to defeat her, and you knew very well you might give up your life in the process. You _certainly_ would have if Aslan had not led me to you! You were a breath away from death when I found you, and you were _willing_ to pay that price for Narnia and for Aslan, Peter! Tell me, then, my brother and High King, why you cannot forgive yourself for your actions in visions that were created by Dark Magic? You continue to give strength to Rua's torture with your own guilt. Aslan has forgiven you; is that not enough to put it to rest?"

I was left reeling from this newest torrent of information. Rua, then, was the name of the evil woman who had apparently done everything in her power to gain control of Peter. Peter had nearly died trying to resist and kill her. It was another instance when he had nearly given up his life to save Narnia from destruction, but the price had clearly gone far beyond physical injury. Only thanks to Aslan and Edmund – and a bit of Lucy's cordial, I was willing to bet – had he survived.

"It should be," Peter whispered. His expression tore at my heart; he looked utterly wretched. "Aslan forgive me, it should be. He knows my heart; he knows that I am His and that nothing is worth more to me than to serve Him, whether here or in Narnia, and that I hold his love and approval above everything. But to know that, whatever means Rua used, she was able to plunge me into a world where I would gladly commit fratricide, where I would not know you – that is what never leaves me, Edmund."

For the second time in as many minutes, Edmund looked as though he had been struck by an epiphany, although this time his expression was full of awe rather than anger. "_You needed to know this, my child. Go, so that your brother's demons may leave him,_" he murmured. He remained motionless for a minute or two, withdrawn into himself, until Peter reached out and touched his cheek.

"Edmund?" he inquired gently. "What is it?"

Edmund looked up at him then, the distant look leaving his eyes, and understanding was suddenly flooding his features.

"Aslan was why the dream was different, Peter," he whispered, and I marveled at the happiness in his face. "He brought me to you – he brought us both there. I heard him, just before I woke. He knew that I needed to see and feel everything, to help you end this."

Peter's face filled with a wistful yearning at the mention of the Lion, but for the first time, the hint of a smile touched his lips. "You're sure?"

"As sure as I am that I am Edmund the Just, brother," Edmund said. He framed Peter's face with his hands, looking him in the eyes. "I forgive you, Peter. I meant it when I said there was nothing to forgive; I do not now nor have I ever blamed you for what Lady Rua did to you. Having seen it, having lived it, I still do not. However, if my forgiveness is what you need in order to forgive yourself and heal, in order to lessen the impact of these dreams and their attacks, then you have it, a thousand times over. Having received _your_ forgiveness so long ago, do you really think there is anything you could do that would cause me to withhold mine?"

Peter closed his eyes for a moment, and tears fell down his cheeks, but when he looked at Edmund again I realized they were tears of relief. He looked as though a tremendous burden had just been lifted from him. "Aslan, we praise you for your blessings and your mercy," he murmured, and when he and Edmund clasped each other this time, it was with the gentleness of absolution.

My prayer had been answered. _Thank you, Great Lion who loves and upholds your chosen kings._

Coming back to myself in the London tearoom where I was sitting, it occurred to me that I had never known two men, brothers or not, who were so comfortable with physical touch. For Peter and Edmund, it was almost a necessity, a reassurance that the other lived and breathed and was warm underneath their hands. I had seen echoes of it during the war, soldiers who had become friends and pulled each other from the line of fire, from wreckage, from all manner of ugly deaths. They became guardians for each other, protectors. As a child, I had known one set of twin brothers who had taken it one step further; never was one seen without the other, and they were so linked that often they could finish each other's thoughts. They were bright boys, full of laughter and jokes and constantly with two sisters whose names I could not remember anymore. They enlisted together when the war came, and I heard later that they had died in the same battle.

I had never seen anything to equal the bond between my husband and his brother. I had no doubt that it had everything to do with Narnia, with the fighting and diplomacy and joy they had shared, with the escapes from death that were too numerous to count, with the love of Aslan and the magic of their people. They had grown together, ruled together, celebrated together, and suffered together; it was hardly to be wondered at that their connection was extraordinary.

When they had broken apart, after that terrible yet beautiful conversation, it was as though they returned from some other reality that I had only observed. Both of them seemed to register my presence at the same time, and Peter reached out to me with a worried exclamation. I found myself in his arms, one of his hands stroking my hair, without quite knowing how I got there.

"Oh, Meg, don't cry," he said softly. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry you had to find out about this particular time in Narnia this way – I meant to tell you, truly I did."

There was indeed quite a bit of wetness on my cheeks, and I wondered when I had started to cry. I shook my head against his shoulder.

"I'm not angry at you, Peter, only sorry for how much you have been hurt – and grateful to Aslan and Edmund forever that they brought you back," I said, with a thankful glance at the latter. He acknowledged my look with an incline of his head, and a look of his own that plainly said _I could not do anything less_.

I gave Peter a tight squeeze and a brief kiss, knowing that we would talk later, then straightened up, my inner nurse reasserting itself. "You need to rest, Peter; I'll call the archive and tell them you'll be coming in a little late. Edmund, come to dinner tonight after rehearsal, and the two of you can tell me this tale in its proper context and order."

"Gladly," Edmund said with a little smile. He stood up and tidied his clothes, trying to make himself look at least presentable enough to get back to his flat, while I settled Peter in and brushed a kiss on his forehead. "Try to sleep a little more; I'll be back to check on you," I admonished him.

"I will," he said tiredly. "Uninterrupted sleep sounds heavenly." He reached out and cupped my cheek. "Thank you," he whispered.

I smiled at him and kissed his palm, then stood up and went to the door, where Edmund was waiting to follow me down the stairs. We made it to the front door in silence, each lost in our own thoughts. Before he took his leave, however, Edmund paused.

"I don't know that the physical symptoms of his attacks will ever go away, Meg, but the mental aftereffects should be less detrimental now. I can't believe I didn't see it before - all of the clues were there," he said, the self-reproach evident in his tone.

"Don't blame yourself, Edmund; you can hardly expect to notice something that Peter had buried so deeply it required Aslan's interference to mend," I reminded him. "Don't trade his guilt for yours; you were here for him, as you have always been."

Edmund nodded appreciatively, though his brief smile was tinged with the barest touch of regret. I knew that he never forgot the contentious relationship he and Peter had had before Narnia or the betrayal that had almost cost them all everything. His focus quickly came back to me, however, and I was surprised at the open approbation in his expression.

"You proved yourself the equal of our Lucy today, Meg Pevensie," he said. "It takes as much courage to know when to step back as it does to plunge into a fight. You supported both of us this morning without question, without asking for explanation until the crisis was past, and you did what needed to be done despite the awfulness of what you heard. Lucy would have admired you for that, and been grateful for it – and so am I."

Profoundly touched, and more than a little stunned that he would compare me to the sister I knew he and Peter had adored, it took me a moment to find my voice. I reached out and touched his arm. "Thank you," I said simply, and I knew from his face that he understood.

"Now, go on," I said, opening the door and giving him a little push. "You need to sleep or you won't be fit to play at rehearsal, and we'll see you for supper."

A truly devilish grin appeared on his face then, and it relieved me to see it. If he could grin like that, he was going to be all right.

"Yes, Mum," he said cheekily, and I gave a small snort of pretend indignation, but couldn't help the twitch of my lips.

I felt the same twitching again as I poured myself another cup of tea. Serious Edmund might be, as a general rule, but he had a definite sense of humor and wasn't afraid to use it. While it raised my hackles to be compared to his mother – and Edmund without a doubt knew that it did – it was undeniable that I had developed a sincere fondness for him, made up of equal parts protectiveness, annoyance, and affection, much like I felt for my own siblings. Remembering our little exchange, I realized that Edmund missed teasing his sisters. Lucy was gone, and he could never tease Susan about anything now; their relationship was far too hostile. Taken all together, that conversation by the door revealed how much Edmund considered me part of their family: not only had he compared me to Lucy, but he had been willing to tease me as he might have teased her. The thought was both gratifying and humbling.

After seeing Edmund off, I had gone back indoors and back upstairs to tuck Peter in more thoroughly. He had been fast asleep, and I turned the lights off before going back downstairs. It was still too early to call the archive, so I put on a pot of coffee and wandered into the living room. Perhaps drawn to it by Edmund's earlier words, I went to the fireplace and picked up the photograph of Lucy and Peter that sat on the mantle.

It had been taken on a warm day in their backyard in Finchley, not too long before the railway accident that had killed Lucy along with Peter's parents. The two siblings were hugging each other and laughing, their eyes sparkling, and I was caught off guard by the burst of sadness that filled me, looking at vivacious, seventeen-year-old Lucy. I suddenly wished, with a fierceness I did not expect, that Lucy Pevensie had lived. Peter and Edmund did not often speak of her, but when they did it was always with the utmost love and tenderness, and I knew they had both been devastated by her death, grieving her even more than the loss of their parents. I realized, however, that I also wished she had lived for my own sake. Susan and I did not get on, for a long list of painful reasons, and although I pitied her for the life she had chosen, I could not like her. It would have been wonderful to know Lucy, who had loved her brothers so devotedly; I knew she would never have turned away from them or from Narnia. I might have been able to talk to her about how to negotiate this odd bridging of the worlds that was necessary in the lives of the siblings, could certainly have gained insight from her about both Peter and Edmund, for she had known them when I had not and doubtless knew more than I would ever discover. I hoped that she was in Aslan's Country waiting for her family and was happy. It was strange to miss the presence of a sister-in-law I had never known in life.

The bell over the tearoom door jingled, and I looked up, jolted into awareness once again, as Edmund's girlfriend Maureen entered the shop. We had arranged to have tea this afternoon, and since Peter had seemed worlds better after his sleep and had gone to work as usual, I had seen no reason not to keep our engagement. She spied me from across the room, and I smiled, waiving her over to the chair across from me.

"Hello, Meg dear," she said as she put her umbrella under her chair and took off her coat. "You look a bit worn out; is everything all right?"

I quickly considered how much I could say; I knew Edmund had not told her about Narnia yet, for good reason. If he did, it would be because he wanted their relationship to be permanent.

"I'm all right; just a little tired, Maureen. Peter had nightmares and an asthmatic attack early this morning." That was all right; she knew about the nightmares, and the breathing troubles were new even to me.

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. I knew he occasionally had nightmares, although I didn't know about the asthma. Is he feeling better?" she asked sympathetically.

"He is. He had a good sleep and went in late to the archive. The breathing problems are something new, but he seemed to feel much better when he left. Now that I know what to look for, I'm hoping I can keep the asthma symptoms to a minimum," I answered.

"Good, I'm glad," Maureen smiled.

"Are you going to hear Edmund play tonight, Mo?" I questioned slowly. This was verging onto dangerous ground, but Edmund wouldn't be quite himself. She deserved fair warning, and Edmund had known I was going to see her this afternoon. He would make the connection.

Maureen nodded, her eyes sparkling. "I am. You know I never miss him if I can help it."

I smiled in return, for it was clear that she cared for Edmund very much, and I thought she was more than capable of handling him. She must have caught something in my face, though, for her look changed to one of worry as she waited for me to speak.

"What is it, Meg?"

"Be kind to him when you see him tonight, won't you?" I said carefully. "I had to call him this morning – between Peter's nightmares and the asthma, I couldn't calm him without Edmund. He'll be tired."

Maureen nodded, her expression serious. "Of course. Are Peter's nightmares always so awful?"

I shook my head. I was going to tell her a bit of a fib, but it was as true as I could make it. "No. Only when they concern Edmund himself. Most of them have to do with the war. They went through a lot, being sent away, and I think neither of them have ever forgotten the bombings or lost that sense of protectiveness."

"I can understand that," Maureen said thoughtfully. "I'll take care of Edmund, Meg. You just worry about Peter."

I smiled again. "Thank you, Maureen. I know it will make Peter feel better, too, to know that you're looking out for his brother." That was definitely the truth; as much as Peter disliked the fact that he could no longer watch over Edmund as constantly as he once had, I knew he liked and trusted Maureen a great deal.

"Well, we can't have them worrying any more about one another, can we?" she said practically. "They do enough of that already. To hear Ed talk sometimes, you would think that he's perfectly sensible, but that Peter is reckless when it comes to his own safety and well-being – and I would imagine Peter talks the same way about Ed. I've caught them in the occasional scolding match."

Her expression told me clearly that she had found their verbal sparring amusing, and looking at each other, we began to laugh. While she might have only see the surface of Peter and Ed's worry, on a day when they were arguing more for the sake of form than anything, it was a good sign that she was so levelheaded about it, and a better one that she had absorbed my comment about the brothers' "war" experiences with such care. She did not know yet why their concern for one another was so deep and so serious, but I had a feeling that if she learned everything, she would keep that trust as earnestly as I did. As our laughter ceased and Maureen poured herself a cup of tea, it occurred to me that I might have found a sister after all. I considered her a good friend already, and if Maureen did indeed become Edmund's wife, we would make a good team when it came to handling the brothers Pevensie.

I was sure Lucy would have approved.


End file.
